Harry Potter Headcanons
by Grac3
Summary: Story versions of my Harry Potter headcanons. More of an explanation inside, including warnings.
1. The Missing Sock

**A.N.:** This fic is basically going to be story versions of my headcanons. Most of them will be mine, but some of them will be stuff that I've seen on Facebook etc. They will probably be drabbles/oneshots, I doubt any of them will be more than one chapter. This will be updated sporadically and will probably never be completely finished, as I will most likely keep adding to it as I think up/come across headcanons. They also won't be in chronological order and the rating will probably go up at some point.

**A.N.2:** This is set in PoA.

**Warning:** References to bullying

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter**

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**The Missing Sock**

They were everywhere this time. But then, she supposed that the more was missing the wider the area they could be scattered across.

Luna took advantage of the fact that nearly everyone above third year was at Hogsmeade to go around the castle collecting her hidden belongings. Ginny told her that they were stolen, not hidden, but Nargles don't steal things; they hide them.

Then again, she supposed on some level she knew why her belongings went missing so often. It was easier to blame a creature that she knew in the very back of her mind wasn't real than to actually admit that her fellows disliked her to the extent that they would do this to her. She had been trying to learn the Summoning Charm to retrieve her lost belongings, but she had yet to get the hang of it.

So she spent her Saturday morning hanging from the magical staircase, waiting for it to swing round so that she could reach the sock hanging from a painting frame half way up the wall.

She didn't know how long she'd been waiting patiently, not berating the staircase like so many of her worse-tempered classmates would have done, when she heard angry footsteps getting closer to her, accompanied with equally angry grumbles.

"Move!"

Luna jumped as the voice was raised at her. She straightened herself up and looked to see whom it belonged to. Draco Malfoy was standing there with what looked curiously like mud on the back of his head. He looked furious.

"Good morning, Draco," she smiled, hoping to calm him down. She didn't like it when people were angry, for angry wasn't happy and therefore it wasn't good.

Draco merely responded with a growl. Yet his anger soon turned into mild surprise, as though he had only realised that it was in fact Luna standing in front of him.

"What are you doing here, Lovegood?" he asked, the fury still present in his voice but dulled slightly as he looked at her.

"I'm trying to reach my sock," she explained matter-of-factly, and pointed at the pink hosiery hanging from the painting frame on the opposite wall. "I'm waiting for the staircase to move."

"Why don't you use magic?" he asked scornfully, as though it were the most absurd thing to use 'Muggle means' to do anything that could have been achieved by magic.

"Because I haven't mastered the Summoning Charm yet," she explained. "But I have been practicing and I'm sure I'll get better at it."

"Summoning Charm is fourth year spellwork," Draco remarked, and Luna almost detected a slight hint in his voice that indicated that he was impressed with her.

"Yes, that's probably why I can't do it yet." Luna nodded and turned back to the sock, still so far out of reach. "The teachers say that even though I'm intelligent, it doesn't mean that I will be able to do every spell on my first try. It takes time."

"Intelligent?" Draco asked, and for the first time in the two years since Luna had begun Hogwarts he saw the Ravenclaw crest on her chest. "I thought you were in Hufflepuff," he mumbled, almost embarrassed.

"No, Ravenclaw," Luna explained, though she didn't sound boastful like most Ravenclaws did. Her humility was new to the Slytherin; why wouldn't she want to showcase her intellect, like Granger did in every single lesson – and she wasn't even in Ravenclaw. "But I have a very good friend in Hufflepuff. She's excellent at Charms. Much better than me."

She stared at the sock for a while as there was silence between them. The staircase still refused to move to bring her closer to it, so she whipped out her wand and pointed at the sock.

"_Accio_!" she exclaimed, giving her wand a hopeful flick. Nothing happened, so she decided to change her tactic. "_Wingardium Leviosa_." The sock was lifted up above the painting frame, and wobbled ominously through the air as the Ravenclaw brought it closer to the staircase. All of a sudden, there was a loud thud, and the staircase began to move. Luna lost her concentration and the sock fell to the ground some fifty feet below. She looked over the edge of the staircase and sighed.

"_Accio_?" she asked optimistically, though Draco admitted that he was sceptical that it would work. However, he was proved wrong and the sock leaped into the air, soaring the fifty feet up to the staircase and straight into the Ravenclaw's outstretched hand.

"Wow," he breathed, as she gave a triumphant bark of laughter and held the sock high above her head. She turned to him with such a wide grin that it was contagious; he felt the strings pull at the sides of his own mouth and, before he could stop it, he was laughing as well.

"Do you have any Exhorto blood in you?" she asked him, with wide admiring eyes.

"Er…" he mumbled, not knowing what an Exhorto was – though he suspected that it wasn't really a thing at all. "Probably not, no."

"Oh, never mind," she waved her hand to dismiss her comment and through her arms around his neck.

"Oh, er… what's happening?"

Luna sensed his discomfort and slowly drew back. "Uh… a hug?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. The last five minutes had been some of the strangest in his entire life; the whole school pinned Luna Lovegood as some kind of weirdo – and maybe in some ways she was – but the assumption was always that that was a bad thing. He had always agreed with the masses, but he now realised that he had never actually spent any real time with her; he should have done, because she was, in reality, not really a weirdo at all: she was actually pretty amazing.

"You're cool," he told her, smiling.

"Thank you," she grinned. "You too."

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**A.N.3:** Exhorto means encourage in Latin (according to Google Translate, anyway), so my idea behind this is that an Exhorto is someone who can encourage/bring out the magical potential in someone just by being near them. They are, however, completely fictional (even within the Harry Potter-verse).


	2. Scarborough Fair

**A.N.:** This is set between OOTP and HBP.

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, or the lyrics in this chapter**

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**Scarborough Fair**

There was a radio on his bedside table. A simple wireless, originally red but repainted green. He often listened to the radio while doing his holiday homework; the background noise was encouraging and drowned out the annoying scratching of his quill. Yet now, as The Weird Sisters blared from the speaker and his quill hovered an inch above his Potions essay, he found it nothing more than irritating.

Draco Malfoy had never had a talent for academia. He was nothing particularly special; he was, if anything, painfully average, always outsmarted by the likes of Granger and arrogant Ravenclaws. Disappointed by this, his parents had sought to uncover his talent on the Quidditch pitch. Yet still, he was bested by Potter in that department.

Despite this, Draco knew that he did have a talent, one that was not directly addressed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His talent was nothing to do with schoolwork, with remembering facts and applying them to the real world; nor was it to do with sports, with flying around on a broom on a rainy Saturday morning searching for a tiny, flying, golden ball.

No; his talent was musical.

Draco had been seven when he first picked up a guitar. He had been hopeless to begin with, his fingers sliding off of the strings so that his chords ended harshly and far too early. Yet with practice he became better – a lot better, and very quickly. By the age of nine he could already play relatively complicated pieces of music, and by the time he started Hogwarts he had discovered the other side to his musical talent: he could play by ear.

On this frosty summers' day – frosty thanks to the Dementors roaming the country, seen only by wizards, but their presence felt by all – with The Weird Sisters' distinctive, upbeat melody reaching his ears from the wireless, he could deconstruct the entire song into its chords. He would by no means be able to play the song directly from this – he would need to learn the song, and spend time getting the tempo right – but already he could see in his mind what the sheet music would look like.

Draco carefully put down his quill and reached over to the radio to turn it off. He was getting far too distracted, and The Weird Sisters were not dismal enough to mirror the feeling of the nation right now. 'Upbeat' did not match the mist outside the windows, nor the unseasonal chill.

He flicked the switch on the wireless to turn it off, but the silence that followed was too claustrophobic; without the background noise, his thoughts quickly drifted to the Mark on his arm, to the task that he had been set, and that was far too unbearable for him to deal with right now. He flicked the radio on again, determined to find a station on the WWN playing a song that he could bear to listen to in his current melancholy mood.

He tuned into several stations; a folk station, a talk station, even a station that just seemed to play white noise – he wondered if it was for wizards at all, or simply some form of magical creature to whom the crackling would sound like the most beautiful melody in the world. After about ten minutes he found a station playing the introduction to a song that he had never heard before. Out of pure curiosity, he paused to listen to it.

Before the introduction had even finished, Draco could see the music in his head. He wondered if he would be able to play along. He glanced up at his guitar, leaning against the wall of his bedroom covered in Slytherin stickers that he had stuck on there during his first summer home from Hogwarts; they looked tacky, and he was desperate to get rid of them, but feared that the instrument would look plain and unloved if he did so.

Before he could make up his mind, the vocals began, and he found himself listening intently to them. They didn't seem to make any sense, and the voice was one he had never heard before – no, not one, but two; this was a duet, or at least a group with two vocalists. He had never heard of such a group in his life; most wizarding musicians either performed solo or as part of a band: never as a duo, as these seemed to be.

The song was almost half over when he realised, with a somewhat sickening feeling, that this was not a wizarding band at all, and that he had tuned into a Muggle radio station. He shot a terrified glance over his shoulder, fearing that anyone could have heard what was going on inside the room. Yet his parents had no reason to spy on him, and the house elves had been ordered not to disturb him while he was doing his homework. Relaxing slightly, he leaned back on his bed to finish listening to the song, the staves covered with chords floating in front of his eyes.

~{hp-headcanons}~

_One month later_

Narcissa was going to bed when she passed her son's bedroom door and heard it. She stopped, perplexed, and moved closer to listen.

Sure enough, coming through the woodwork was the sound of a guitar. She smiled to herself; that guitar had sat untouched for far too long, gathering dust against the wall of the boy's bedroom. Since the war had started, she feared it would never get played again. Yet as she listened, she found herself unsure as to what song was being played; that was, until he started singing.

"_Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

"_Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,_

"_Remember me to the one who lives there,_

"_She was once a true love of mine_."

Those were not the kinds of lyrics that wizards wrote; this was a Muggle song.

Looking over her shoulder for any signs of life, she retrieved her wand from her pocket and cast a Silencing Charm on the door. She could no longer hear any music coming through the wood, and nor would anyone else who happened to pass by. Yet within the room beyond, she knew that a boy was playing a song that he was passionate about, and because of that – for the first time since the Dark Lord had returned – she smiled.


	3. Thunderstorm

**A.N.:** Could be considered Wolfstar if you're wearing slash goggles, but otherwise you can take it as friendship.

**Warning: **Mention of injury and drugs (sort of)

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter**

**UPDATE 28/10/13: **So I was reading over this the other day, and I realised that I didn't like it very much, so I decided to go over it and change it slightly. It's still the same story, but with a few bits added.

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**Thunderstorm**

Remus ached. He reasoned that it was about three in the morning – for he was in too much pain to get up and look at the clock – but he couldn't get to sleep.

The previous night's transformation had been terrible; even with the three Animagi present to help calm him down, the moon had ripped through him like a knife. When he had awoken, his friends were nowhere to be seen: the obvious sign that, for some reason, he had been particularly dangerous.

It had been one of the only rules that he had laid down when the three other Marauders had offered to become Animagi for him: that if the danger level increased even marginally, they would leave him. It hadn't been the easiest thing in the world convincing James and Sirius to obey this rule – as, after all, it was a rule, and the two of them had most difficulty with those infernal and fun-restricting things, but so far they had seemed to let common sense and self-preservation win over juvenile delinquency.

It was because of this rule that Remus had woken alone and in breath-taking agony, having, at some point during the night, impaling himself on a broken chair leg.

His injury had been so severe that Madame Pomfrey had had to perform complicated medical magic akin to Muggle surgery, removing the stake slowly and carefully and _painfully_ before pumping him full of various potions – antibiotic potions and pain potions and sleeping potions – before leaving him to spend the afternoon completely high in a hospital bed.

Now, however, at three o' clock in the morning, all the potions that had worked so well during the day had started to wear off. Whether Madame Pomfrey knew that they would and simply hadn't woken up to replenish the magic in his bloodstream, or that she had thought that the dosage was sufficient to last him through the night, he didn't know; what he _did_ know was that he was in far too much agony to call out for the Healer's assistance.

There was one other thing that Remus was aware of – that he probably shouldn't have been aware of, given the slow throb of dulled pain that was reverberating around his body with every beat of his heart, but that he was thankful of anyway, even if it only offered some distraction from his current situation: something that almost offered a crumb of comfort. The air was thick and humid, the tell-tale signs of a coming storm. He could almost hear the rain falling lightly a few miles off; maybe it had even reached Hogsmeade already. He couldn't tell for sure, but he knew that it was coming closer.

Remus had always loved thunderstorms; while his mother had always hidden in the cupboard under the stairs while their house shook with the awesome power of Mother Nature and the thunder roared overhead, the vibrations from the almighty sound seemed to hit his tiny form like a freight train, soothing all of his injuries until they were almost forgotten. The promise of a thunderstorm heading towards the castle was enough to pull at the corners of his mouth; when it struck, all of his pain would end…

"Psst, Moony!"

Remus jumped, his eyes flying open as he looked around – unable to sit up – searching for the source of the noise. He found it standing next to his bed, holding the Invisibility Cloak in his hand – which may or may not have been nicked off of James.

"Sirius, what are you doing?" Remus groaned, the initial panic at the sudden noise wearing off.

"I came to see you," Sirius explained, somewhat redundantly.

"I can see that," Remus sighed, "but _why_?" He was always a little grumpier in the immediate aftermath of a transformation, particularly one as bad as the last one.

"I dunno," Sirius shrugged. "Thought you might want some company."

"What if I had been asleep?"

A sheepish expression took over his features, one that looked strange on the face of Sirius Black.

Outside, the storm was getting closer.

"How are you feeling?" the Animagus asked, and Remus noticed that he was, somewhat awkwardly, changing the subject.

"Like I fell on a chair leg," Remus told him. Sirius chuckled, but he was fidgeting with the edge of the Cloak almost in sympathy.

Rain started to pound against the window. The noise, like a drumbeat, felt brutal, but was already working to soothe his injuries.

"Sirius," he began, shifting a little and noticing that it was no longer hurting as much as it had been this morning. "Can you open the window please?"

The Animagus looked out of the window at the rain, then back at his friend, confused. In the six years that he had known his three best friends, Remus had never told them of his fascination with thunderstorms; for some reason, it had simply never come up, and he thought that the concept would be far too philosophical for the bibliophobic teenagers to grasp.

"Please," he repeated. With the same quizzical look, the Animagus got out his wand and opened the window.

The fresh air of the thunderstorm hit him like a tidal wave; the noise of the rain was so much louder and washed over him in shockwaves. Surely nature was better than any magic to heal. His pain was dulled immediately, and his eyes slipped closed as he suddenly realised how tired he was.

"Thank you," he breathed, a real and genuine smile forming on his lips.

"You're welcome," Sirius replied, in that tone of pleased confusion that a happy event without explanation such as this elicits.

Remus was just about to fall asleep, the rumble of the thunder rocking him gently as a mother would her newborn baby, when he felt a hand reach up to his brow.

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**A.N.2:** I know that 'bibliophobic' isn't a real word, but it should be!


	4. Glasses

**A.N.:** This is set in 1988, in the last term of the Marauders' seventh year.

**A.N.2:** This was based on a picture I saw of Gary Oldman wearing glasses, and I thought they looked really cool.

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter**

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**Glasses**

"Padfoot, what are you doing?"

It had been nearly seven years, and the four Marauders had done many things in that time; they had grown from stupid, immature children into stupid, immature adults, they had become illegal Animagi for their werewolf best friend, and they had performed countless pranks on the deserving Slytherins – yet in all that time, none of them had ever seen Sirius Black blush.

Yet it was happening now, and what a blush it was: a bright red, almost matching the tomatoes that had been in the salad at lunch, reaching from the bottom of his pathetic attempt at a beard to the tops of his ears.

"N-nothing," he stammered, another thing that was new for the three other Marauders sitting around the table in the corner of the common room. This was clearly a lie, however, for not only was Sirius Black reading a book – and a textbook at that, something that the others had already decided the aristocrat was allergic to – but he was holding it at arm's length and squinting, as though having trouble reading what was on the page.

"I know you don't do it very often, but that isn't actually how you read a book," Remus told him with a slight smirk, one that, on the lips of the kindest and most innocent of the messrs, was lacking the maliciousness of the typical, textbook smirk, and was somehow more heart-warming than a smile. The werewolf reached out and took the book from his friend, who rewarded him with a half-hearted glare.

"I was just…" Sirius began meekly, as the book was returned to him with instructions to hold it closer to his face.

"What's wrong, Pads?" James asked, a genuine hint of concern behind his 'come-on-snap-out-of-it' expression.

"Nothing!" Sirius insisted, holding the book in front of his face; though at this stage it was painfully obvious that he wasn't reading at all anymore, and was merely hoping that the volume would act as a shield until his friends became bored with the whole scenario and moved on to more interesting subjects.

"Sirius," Remus sighed, grabbing the top of the book and lowering it from his friend's face – the lack of a fight that the Animagus put up being another worrying concern. When the book was removed it revealed a resigned look on Sirius' face, and he was trying very hard not to meet any of their eyes.

"I…" he began uncomfortably. "I…"

"Oh, spit it out, Pads!" James insisted, leaning forward in his seat.

Sirius closed his eyes tight and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though he was in pain.

"Sirius?" Remus asked, watching his friend carefully. "Are you alright?"

The Animagus dropped his hand to the table, but kept his eyes closed. "I… I can't see."

A silence followed. James, Remus and Peter looked around at one another, waiting for their friend to elaborate. When it became apparent that he had no intention of doing so, the stag decided to prompt him.

"What do you mean, you can't see?" he asked, carefully. It was mildly impressive that his coming of age had actually seemed to improve his manners somewhat.

Sirius sighed, his eyes snapping open. "I can't see!"

"Yeah, you said that," Peter told him.

Sirius' gaze dropped to his lap and he began twiddling his thumbs. "Last term," he began slowly, "I noticed that I kept getting headaches. Like, after lessons and stuff. So over Easter I went to the Healer, to see if there was anything wrong with me."

"Why didn't you just go to Madame Pomfrey?" Remus asked.

"Because I didn't want her to know!" Sirius snapped, looking up at the werewolf. "In seven years, even with all the stuff we get up to, I've never had to spend a single second in a hospital bed, and if I was going to, then I wanted it to be because of some impressive, school-disrupting mayhem that we had managed to cause, not some stupid headaches! So I waited until the holidays.

"Anyway," he sighed, shifting uncomfortably as his gaze dropped again, "they told me that… that I needed glasses," he finished, sounding incredibly embarrassed.

"So?" James asked, looking offended as he pushed his own glasses further up his nose. "What's wrong with wearing glasses?"

"Nothing!" Sirius insisted, his head snapping up. "It's just… well, they gave me a pair, and, well… they don't really suit me."

It was at this statement that Remus burst out laughing, prompting all three heads to turn to him in confusion. When his mirth had subsided enough so that he could speak again, he addressed the dark-haired boy sitting next to him.

"_That's_ what you're worried about? That you might look a little stupid?" he asked incredulously. Sirius nodded. "Where are they? Do you have them with you?"

Sirius reached into his robes' inside pocket and pulled out an oblong case. Opening the case, he retrieved a pair of thin spectacles and shoved them onto his face. He looked around at each of them with a look as if to say, 'See, they look ridiculous!'

Each of the Marauders had a good look, forming their own opinions in their head before speaking.

"They look fine, Padfoot," Peter assured him.

"Cool, even," James agreed, sounding even slightly jealous as he adjusted the circular frames of his own spectacles on his face.

Sirius turned to Remus, offering him the proverbial penny for his thoughts with a single expression.

"You look… bookish," the werewolf offered, and Sirius tore the frames from his face and threw them on the table. "That's not a bad thing!"

"Well…" Sirius shrugged, plucking the glasses up between his forefinger and his thumb and fidgeting with the hinges.

"Do you have to wear them all the time?" Remus asked.

Sirius shook his head. "Only when I'm working," he mumbled.

"Well that's better than me!" James exclaimed. "I walk into everything when I'm not wearing mine!"

"I suppose," Sirius smiled. He stared down at the glasses. "They're not that bad, are they?"

"No!" Remus said, taking the glasses from him and shoving them back on his nose. "Now get reading – we have an exam tomorrow."

"Thanks, Moony," Sirius nodded, pushing the glasses further up his nose and picking up the textbook once more.


End file.
